Choices
by Aurora Sommerset
Summary: Draco Malfoy agonises over life altering choices. (One-shot) COMPLETE


**Author's notes:** Entry for the HOL Book Club post-Hogwarts contest. Maximum word count – 1000.

**Choices**

Everyone was gathered in the Great Hall for the Leaving Feast, and the excitement was nearly tangible. The Gryffindors were especially enthusiastic, as they had won the Quidditch Cup. A last victory for Harry Potter.

Draco Malfoy watched furtively as students came up to Potter sporadically, either to speak with the "Boy-Who-Lived" or to simply give him a companionable cuff on the shoulder. He greeted them all in turn, with a permanent smile on his face. He looked as if nothing could ever make him unhappy. _That makes one of us,_ Draco thought. He forgot himself and the indifferent mask slipped, revealing not a small amount of envy.

Pansy, who was seated facing him, misinterpreted his expression. "I know," she said disgustedly, rolling her eyes at Potter. "Revolting, isn't it?"

Draco made an unconcerned noise of agreement, and directed his attention to his plate. His eyes lost their focus as he recalled the discussion he and Professor Snape had earlier in the evening.

_Black eyes measured his. "You are aware of future...choices in the coming year, are you not?"_

_Draco nodded. "Yes, sir."_

_"And are you prepared for the consequences?"_

_He expected this from Dumbledore, but from Snape? Perhaps it wasn't what he thought. "Pardon?"_

_Professor Snape leaned forward in his chair. "Mr Malfoy, I will speak to you as I would an adult. While there are certain luxuries afforded to one of your assemblage, amnesty is not one of them. If you are caught with the Mark, no amount of bribery or leverage will spare you."_

_For reasons he couldn't explain, he felt as though there were a noose tightening around his throat. "I understand sir," he choked._

_"Do you? I realise Lucius has told you stories of our days of glory, but I wonder if he has told you of the other side. About how you will never decide things for yourself, how you will always be obligated to serve our Master's needs before your own, and how your life can be taken away with two simple words without any compunctions." Snape regarded him seriously. "Lucius has not told you this, I know. He would not want you to have reason to question his wishes."_

_Draco phrased his response carefully. Any cavalier terms could be treated as treason. "What else could I do, sir? No one will admit it, but Potter holds the ultimate decision, and he sees me as the enemy."_

_"I believe you would be surprised at what Mr Potter sees. But that is not the issue here," he continued before Draco could object. "What do you want to do, Draco? Not what your father or the Dark Lord wants, not what the rest of the world expects, what do _you _want?"_

Draco hadn't been able to answer. Even now, he was ambivalent. He could continue down his current path, perhaps even be rewarded for exposing Snape as a traitor, or he could take his trusted professor's advice, and do something _he_ wanted. _Wait...what _I _want? Does that mean I really don't want the Mark? _

"Oy, Crabbe! Give me my sweets, you've already had some!"

The pale haired wizard scowled. He couldn't think here.

"I'm going for a walk," he muttered to Nott, who was adjacent to him. Nott didn't even glance up from drooling over the Weasley girl; he merely waved at Draco half-heartedly.

After slipping unseen from the Great Hall, he wandered out to the pitch. This was the only place in Hogwarts he felt truly comfortable. No one came here, except for matches and the occasional snog.

The realisation inside had been a complete paradigm shift. He really didn't _have_ to become a Death Eater. Of course, his father would raise bloody hell over the matter, and would likely disown him; however, that wouldn't bother him very much, Lucius had rarely if ever treated him as a son. Draco was simply a tool, a status symbol. Plus, on a clandestine excursion to Diagon Alley, he had placed an exorbitant sum of galleons in Gringotts.

He was so thoroughly contemplative, that he didn't hear the approaching footfalls.

"Evening, Malfoy."

Draco whirled in alarm, unconsciously drawing his wand.

Harry Potter raised his arms defensively. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. Nice reflexes, though."

Draco's first habitual reaction was to say something derogatory, but Potter was actually talking to him without being a prat, and he had just complimented him. He was nothing if not polite, so he decided to return the greeting. _Not to mention it would give my father convulsions, _he thought dryly.

"Coming from you, that's high praise," he drawled. "I've been practicing my duelling. Perhaps we could have a go sometime." He casually slid his wand into the hidden sheath on his hip.

Potter laughed. "Sure, that'd be interesting. You've gotten quite good."

"So have you."

Potter smiled in acknowledgement, and turned his gaze to the night sky. He was quiet for several minutes.

"Draco," he started, and then hesitated, seemingly at a loss for words. "Professor Snape told me what he said to you. He wanted me to talk to you about it."

Somehow, Draco wasn't surprised. After Snape had commented on Potter, he half expected something like this. "You realise that regardless of which side I cast my wand, I'll be used just for my expertise."

Potter inclined his head. "It is our choices that make us who we are, far more than our abilities." His eyes lost their austerity, and lit up with mischief. "You wouldn't want to make the wrong one. I can help you there," he teased, and held out his hand.

Draco was taken back seven years to a similar situation, only he had been the one offering the hand. He stared at Potter intently, before slowly extending his own hand. "Prudent advice." He grinned. "Dumbledore said that spiel about choices, though."

Potter pretended offence. "What makes you think I didn't invent it?"

"Potter, you're a brilliant leader, but you're not that profound."


End file.
